‘Something’s going on,’ he said. In the distance, from the direction of the soutch dock, he saw the mist turn orange. He sniffed. ‘Smoke.’ Then, an instant later, an alarm bell began to ring loudly and desperately. He heard the shouts and knew in an instant what it was. ‘Fire... come on!’ he said, hurrying after the watchmen. The knight and the priestess moved as quickly as they were able through the dense mingling of the smoke and the mist. The crackle of flames filled their ears, and people lurched through the mist, fleeing.
Moaning, someone stumbled against Goodweather, knocking her off of her feet. She fell back onto her rear and looked up at a ruined face. Fleshless jaws worked mushily as the dead man reached for her. Dubnitz’s sword sang out, decapitating the zombie. ‘He’s dead!’ she said as she climbed to her feet.
‘If he wasn’t before, he is now,’ Dubnitz said. He used his sword to point towards the harbour. ‘Hear that? It’s not just the fire. There’s a fight going on out there!’
‘Should we get help? Alert the watch?’
‘No time. Besides, they’ll figure it out soon enough!’ Dubnitz growled, taking a tighter grip on his sword. ‘Got anything in that bag of tricks that can clear this blasted fog?’
‘I can try,’ she said, reaching for more gull feathers. Out of the swirling whiteness, awkward shapes shambled. Dubnitz stepped forward, both hands wrapped around his sword’s hilt.
‘Hurry it up!’ he said as the first ambulatory corpse came into view. A rusty cutlass struck out at him and Dubnitz batted it aside and took its wielder’s arm off at the shoulder. The dead man gave no sign he’d noticed and simply reached for the knight with his remaining hand. Dubnitz took that one off as well, and then bisected the stubborn zombie. As the two halves thumped onto the wood, the second and third closed in, followed by the fourth, fifth and fifteenth. More and more of them shambled out of the mist, their blind eyes glowing with an eerie light.
‘Where are they all coming from?’ Goodweather said as she let a handful of feathers loose. Out here, closer to the clean sea, the breeze was far stronger then before and it flushed the mist back out from between the closest structures. What it revealed gave her her answer. There were dozens of the dead things staggering into the docklands from the sea. Not just dead men, either. There were the shapes of drowned horses and fenbeasts, Shallows-monsters, fish, eels, sharks and porpoises. A rotting octopus, missing most of its limbs, hauled itself across the dock, its eyes like poached eggs. They climbed up out of the water and across the docks, jetties and wharfs, striking out at whomever or whatever they came across.
‘By Manann’s foamy locks,’ Dubnitz breathed, his sword point dipping. ‘This isn’t Fiducci’s handiwork. It can’t be.’
‘It’s not,’ Goodweather said, pointing towards the harbour. ‘Love of the Sea-Lord... it’s not!’
‘They’re all over! Swarming like ants!’ the bosun shrilled, ringing the alarm bell. There were more than a dozen ships becalmed in the harbour, and on each of them, the crews were setting up a clamour. Torches were lit and men grabbed for weapons. Cutlasses, boarding hooks and other implements of defence found their way into sweaty palms as every eye watched the mist, which had begun to roil like a hurricane-tossed sea. For hours, neither wind nor tide had touched the keel of any ship in the harbour. Yet now, something was happening. Dead things thrashed in the sea, and boathooks were deployed to shove off the rotting, climbing things that sought to board every ship, including the Nordland merchant vessel that was the closest to this newest disturbance.
When it happened, it happened so gently, so quietly, that no man on the deck noticed until it was too late to do anything beyond stare in slack-jawed awe at the apparition sliding out of the all-consuming mist. With neither wind nor oar to propel it, the ship cut through the water like a shark’s fin. Its hull sagged from the weight of the barnacles that clung to it, and its sails were tattered wisps, the bare memory of once vibrant-coloured cloth. As it glided forward, the water seemed to shudder back from its warped prow, where the skull of some great leviathan had been lashed to the wood by heavy lengths of rusted chain.
It came on with no sound to mark its passage, and it neither slowed nor veered off as it approached the becalmed vessel. At the last moment, the quicker-witted among the crew gathered their senses enough to dive over the side and take their chances in the maelstrom the harbour had become. The others could only stare stupidly as the juggernaut bore down on them and then, with a terrible snapping and splintering of wood, the larger vessel split the smaller in two! The merchant vessel sank and the newcomer surged on, approaching the soutch dock like the hand of some vengeful god. Ancient cannon, crusted over with the filth of the sea, barked out a savage hymn and the soutch dock bucked beneath the onslaught. Docks ruptured and shattered. Bodies were thrown into the air like ragdolls and ships were burst at the waterline.
Eyll watched it all with a horrified fascination. His empire... everything his family had built... was gone in a flash. As burning body parts and wood rained down around him, he looked down at his hand, now bound tightly in a handkerchief of Cathyan silk which was thoroughly ruined by the blood seeping through it. He curled his fingers tight around it. ‘I-I can’t do this...’ he moaned, watching another ship rise up on an explosion and sink.
‘If you want to survive, you must!’ Fiducci said. They stood on the dock, the eleven living women and the one dead behind them. Fiducci had cast a glamour upon them, and they were as listless as the dead things wandering nearby, including the one who truly was dead. Fiducci had animated her, so that her lolling corpse squirmed beside the others. ‘It is a bold gamble, but it will work, and with a bit of luck, your family will again have the services of the captain!’
‘And you?’ Eyll said, still staring at the oncoming ship. ‘You have yet to say what it is you want.’ He glanced at the necromancer. Fiducci shrugged.
‘If we survive, I’ll make my price known eh?’ He gestured to the pistol in Eyll’s sash. ‘Did you load the bullet I prepared?’
‘Yes. Are you sure this will work?’
‘Not in the least,’ Fiducci said. ‘But one can hope, eh?’
The death-ship slowed as it approached the dock and a pitted anchor dropped with a dull splash. Beneath the water the beasts that lurked in the shallows fled the shadow of the ship. Seaweeds and scummy algae turned brown and dead where the shadow fell, and those fish unlucky enough to be unable to avoid its clutches drifted upwards, belly up. Ancient chains squealed like hogs at the slaughter as lifeboats were lowered into the water. Everything was quiet, save for the sound of buildings burning and distant screams.
The captain had returned to harbour at last, and all of Marienburg held its breath. Eyll shuddered uncontrollably as below him, he felt the thud of the prow of the first lifeboat as it connected with the dock. Fiducci stiffened. ‘He’s here, Signor,’ he whispered. Eyll glanced at the necromancer, and his heart sank. The little man’s confidence seemed to have been washed away, and he sagged, his fingers intertwined as if in prayer.
Zombies climbed up onto the dock. These were in better condition than the others, and they carried weapons as if they still remembered in some fashion how to use them. Eyll’s fingers stretched towards the butt of his pistol. ‘Do something,’ he hissed. Fiducci didn’t reply. Eyll spun, and he gave a horrified groan as he realised that the little man was gone.
‘Have I kept you waiting then, young Eel?’ said a voice as deep and as horrible as the catacombs that now contained his family. ‘Forgive me.’
A tomb-cold hand caught Eyll’s own, pinning it in place as he turned and instinctively tried to draw the pistol. The cold crept up his arm and his eyes started from their sockets as he looked up at a face out of childhood nightmares. A spear-point nose, wide-flanged and quivering jutted pinkly from the sickly grey flesh of a beast-face. Teeth that were like triangular arrow-points both pierced and passed over worm-like lips, dappling the scabby thorn-bush beard with black blood. Eyes like win
d-tossed torches held his own in a poisonous grip. He could feel tendrils of ancient scents and bad memories slithering through his brain as the eyes bored into him. A flat, tar-coloured tongue slid out through the thicket of teeth and waggled in the air as a fart of laughter made Eyll’s legs go limp.
‘Now, now. No need for that, little Eel. The captain won’t hurt you, no,’ the apparition hissed. ‘Not when you’ve brought him a repast fit for an admiral, my yes.’ The hell-eyes swivelled towards the shadows, where the offerings huddled.
‘I-I...’ Eyll began hesitantly. His mind groped for the words Fiducci had taught him. ‘I want to pay my debt!’ he blurted. The eyes swung back, freezing his tongue in place.
‘Your many times great-grandfather and I had a bargain, young Eel, my yes. And such a bargain it was too. The oldest bargain. Blood for gold. Blood for the sea’s bounty, every glittering morsel. But why would you want to end that bargain? Didn’t I give him enough?’ The cunning beast-eyes glowed like lamps.
‘I want to pay my debt,’ Eyll croaked again, wanting to look away but unable to do so. A chalk-coloured hand rose out from beneath the rotting cloak, and something glittered between the spidery fingers. Eyll’s mouth went dry and he automatically stuck out his hand. Heavy coins plopped wetly one by one into his hand.
‘There are older wrecks beneath the sea by far than Sigmar’s petty kingdom.’ Shark teeth snapped together. ‘Good yellow gold from the Vampire Coast or the far seas that sweep the beaches of Tilea or Ind. All men love gold, young Eel. Just as I love other things...’ The gurgling voice fell to a purr and Eyll shuddered. Clutching the gold to him, he made a motion to the chained women, who were beginning to come out of their stupor. One of them screamed, until a mossy hand clamped tight over her mouth. The zombies clustered around the women, pawing at them idly. He looked down at the gold again and swallowed the rush of bile that burned in his throat. ‘Twelve souls. That’s what the books said,’ he said.
The captain laughed. ‘Ha. Yes. Twelve innocent souls for one black one.’ A moment later, black words dripped from his gnawed lips and there was a sudden rush of effluvium – a foul stink like Eyll imagined that the ocean’s bottom must smell of. Bloated faces glared mindlessly at Eyll and then at the prisoners. ‘Twelve pure souls for twelve generations of service, aye. Yesss. Let us have ’em, lads,’ the captain said, shifting slightly. In the moonlight, Eyll caught a glimpse of tattered finery and rusted armour coated in barnacles and other things, some of which moved in an unpleasant fashion. ‘Twelve good and true, my yes. I–’ The captain broke off and spun suddenly, his cloak snapping wetly. Eyll heard him sniff and he cringed as the captain clawed at him with a narrow gaze. ‘What is that I smell, young Eel? Got rot in the pork, have you?’
‘No. No! No!’ Panic tore through Eyll like a knife.
The captain seemed to ripple and bend like shadows beneath the surf. One moment he was there and the next... gone. Hastily, Eyll dropped the coins and tore the pistol from his sash. He cocked it with the edge of his bandaged palm and winced. The zombies hesitated, as if unsure of what to do. The captain reappeared next to one of the women... the dead one, Eyll realised with sickening dread.
‘What’s this? What’s this?’ The horrible eyes pinned Eyll. ‘This one’s no good, young Eel. Gone all overripe she has.’ Teeth snapped together. ‘Trying to flimflam me, are you?’
Eyll levelled his pistol. ‘Just trying to survive, really,’ he said weakly, and fired.
Dubnitz beheaded another zombie and charged towards Eyll and the thing that had come off the monstrous ship. His breath rasped hot in his chest as he ran full tilt, battering aside the dead in his haste to reach the living. Behind him, Goodweather hurried to keep up, her ragged robes tangling around her legs. As soon as he saw the creature, he knew what it was, if not who. Dubnitz had fought its kind before, with Ogg and the others, on a Sartosian expedition.
He cursed as Eyll fired at it, knowing it would be no good. The black manta-shape of the vampire lunged over the heads of the chained women and flowed through the soupy air towards Eyll. ‘Free the women!’ Dubnitz shouted at Goodweather. ‘I’ll handle the rest!’
Before the priestess could reply, Dubnitz had barrelled into the slinking shadow-shape and knocked it sprawling. Eyll gawped at him, the smoking pistol hanging forgotten in his hand. ‘You? But you’re–?’
‘Still planning to arrest you!’ Dubnitz snarled, backhanding the prince and sending him sprawling. ‘But not just yet.’ The zombies moved forward, weapons raised. Dubnitz tore into them, hacking them to pieces even as he bellowed a rough seaman’s prayer. But even as the last of them slumped, fingers like bale-hooks sank into the back of his gorget and he was summarily jerked from his feet. He was thrown hard into a pile of crates, which shattered and covered him in fish.
‘Come to challenge the captain, have you?’ the vampire growled. Talons flexed and then, with a wet chuckle, it drew the cutlass hanging from its hip. The blade was big and worn, but not rusty in the least. ‘Come on then,’ it challenged.
Dubnitz crawled to his feet, head ringing from the force of his landing. Black blood dripped sluggishly down the creature’s face from a circular hole in its temple. Evidently Eyll had left his mark. The vampire touched the wound and snarled loud enough to rattle Goetz’s teeth. He stomped forward and the cutlass sprang to meet him. Every parry and reply stung his arms to the root. The vampire was far stronger an opponent than Dubnitz was used to, and it well knew how to use its strength. Also, the mist seemed to curl and tighten about his limbs, hindering his movement.
‘The captain has spread red waters from here to Ind, little warrior,’ the vampire said. ‘He has butchered elven corsairs and broke the hump-backs of sea-beasts. You think you can stand against him?’
‘That depends, are you him?’ Dubnitz muttered through gritted teeth. He had only just blocked a blow that would have taken his head off and now he strained against the uncompromising weight of the vampire’s fell blade. Snarling, the vampire jerked its sword to the side, pulling the knight off balance and punched him in the chest, sending him skidding back across the dock.
Dubnitz rolled to a stop with a clatter and gingerly felt at the fist-shaped dent in his cuirass. Breathing heavily, he pushed himself up and glanced around, looking for Goodweather. The mist, however, was too thick for him to spot anything but the loping shape of his opponent, trotting forward unhurriedly, black tongue caressing the tips of his dagger teeth.
‘You fight well for a landlubber,’ the vampire said. ‘You’d make a fine bosun, strong lad like you.’
‘Flattery won’t save you,’ Dubnitz wheezed, bringing his sword up. The vampire laughed and darted forward so swiftly that Dubnitz couldn’t track him. The cutlass blade stopped inches from his face and the knight staggered back in surprise as the vampire suddenly dropped the weapon and clapped both hands to its skull. It shrieked and Dubnitz’s ears throbbed.
‘Scream all you want, captain,’ Fiducci said, stepping out of the mist, holding up a strange sigil composed of writhing shapes. ‘It will avail you nothing. Not with a shard of warpstone embedded in that corrupt brain of yours. And not when I hold this!’
‘What-what-what?’ the captain croaked. Green and black serum flowed down the vampire’s craggy face as its fingers clawed at the wound in its skull.
‘A little something I picked up in the East. Old Kemmler created it, according to its former owner. Made it to control your kind, which, apparently, it does. It harmonises with the warpstone, you see, creating a bond between this and thee,’ the necromancer chuckled. ‘You’re mine, captain.’
‘I think you mean mine,’ Eyll said, stepping out of the fog, his pistol cocked. His jaw was purpling already from Dubnitz’s blow. ‘Forgetting yourself, Signor Fiducci?’
‘I never forget myself, Signor Eyll. Merely my employer, once our business is concluded,’ Fiducci said. He smiled nastily. ‘You asked me what price I would demand. Well, there it is... the captain.’
‘You promised me–’ Eyll began.
‘I promised you that I would save you from the captain. And I have. But I said nothing about myself,’ Fiducci said. He pulled the sigil close. ‘captain, be so kind as to tender my resignation, eh?’
The vampire whirled and with a frustrated snarl, dove upon Eyll. Eyll fired his pistol and then fell beneath the pouncing shape, which reduced him to a ruinous mess in mere moments. Above the sounds of bones snapping and flesh tearing, Fiducci howled with laughter. The necromancer danced a little jig, stopping only when his eyes settled on Dubnitz, who glared at him.
‘You are annoyingly persistent, Erkhart,’ Fiducci said. ‘Like a wart that keeps coming back.’
Dubnitz straightened, trying to keep an eye on both the necromancer and the vampire. ‘I won’t pretend to know what was going on here, but I’m guessing it’s another of your little schemes, corpse-eater.’ He gestured with his sword. ‘And I’ll be damned if I let you get away with it.’
‘Damned if you do, damned if you don’t,’ Fiducci giggled. ‘Oh, captain...’
Dubnitz threw himself to the side as the vampire dove for him, its talons scraping grooves along his back. Rolling to his feet, he caromed off of another stack of crates and spun, hoping to land a blow. The vampire seemed to ooze around the edge of the sword and then its claws were at his throat and he felt himself being bent backwards. His gorget was ripped free and tossed aside, baring his throat to the greedy lamprey mouth that descended moments later.
The vampire stopped as an immense shadow spread across them. Fiducci’s giggles died away into stunned silence as the wide crest of water rose above them and then summarily slammed down! Dubnitz was torn from the vampire’s grip and tossed back up against a wall as the wave covered that section of the soutch dock and dissolved into puddles and foam.
Sputtering, Fiducci clawed around in the water. ‘Where is it? Where–’
‘Looking for this, are you?’ the captain hissed, hefting the sigil in one talon. As Dubnitz pulled himself erect, the vampire crushed the device as easily as another man might crumple paper. ‘Control me, would you? Better to attempt to control the tides.’
Hammer and Bolter 13 Page 11
